Old Christmas Revived
by mamazano
Summary: The crew of the Black Pearl on holiday in Tortuga. Set post-AWE, at Christmastime. Fancy that!
1. Chapter 1

Written by: mamazano  
Title: Old Christmas Revived  
Rating: G  
Characters: Various characters from POTC, along with some OC's  
Disclaimer: Borrowed from Disney, without permission, with all intentions of giving them back…maybe.

Written For: For the 2009 merrypirates fic exchange, for Tiamary, who requested a story that includes tidbits about how Christmastime was observed in the Caribbean in the 1700s.

Summary: The crew of the _Black Pearl _on holiday in Tortuga. Set post-AWE, at Christmastime. Fancy that!

A/N: Tremendous gratitude goes out to all my darling danglingdingle, for her unflagging encouragement and unfailing support, not to mention spot-on suggestions, all of which have enabled this story to unfold.

****

_All you that to feasting and mirth are inclin'd,  
Come here is good news for to pleasure your mind,  
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,  
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse:  
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_A long time together he hath been forgot,  
They scarce could afford for to hand on the pot:  
Such miserly sneaking in England hath been,  
As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen;  
But now he's returned you shall have in brief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled,  
And all hospitality hath been so dead,  
No mirth at our festivals late did appear,  
They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer;  
But now you shall have for the ease of your grief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

****

Christmas in Tortuga was a multi-national affair, with sailors and merchants from all over the world, each bringing their own customs and flavor to the celebrations. And what celebrations there were – from the delicious English feasts of roasted boar's head, minced pies and plum puddings, to the decidedly French fare of fresh oysters and the many canapés, pâtés and hors d'oeuvres. Roast goose was plentiful as well, and all celebrations, regardless of the heritage, were washed down with copious quantities of rum, wine and ale.

The air was festive, if not fresh, and the many shops and taverns along the muddy lanes were festooned with gaily colored decorations and greenery. The store front of the dress shop, _The Painted Lady_, was bedecked with ribbons and bows, along with bountiful amounts of silk draping. The proprietor, Pierre Bouspeut, was putting the final touches on the window display when the tinkle of a bell announced a visitor to the shop.

"_Bonjour! Bonjour!_"

Pierre called down from his perch on a chair. He hurriedly placed a final bow on his creation and descended to greet the newcomer with cheer.

"My dear Mister Gibbous, how pleasant a surprise!"

Joshamee Gibbs smiled as he shook the diminutive dressmaker's hand. He didn't get a word out before a squeal of delight and blur of gold tackled him in a big hug.

"Josh!" Giselle gave him a big kiss on the cheek, which reddened considerably. "We were hoping t' see you for Christmas!" She peered over his shoulder at the street beyond. "You didn't happen to come…"

Gibbs patted her hand. "…on the _Black Pearl_, aye. Jack is still on board, refusing to turn anchor watch over to anyone." He shook his head and added with a sheepish grimace, "Can't say I blame him, not after what happened last time he were in port."

"Now Josh, that was not your fault," Giselle protested. "How was you t' know that blackheart Barbossa was planning t' steal the _Pearl_?"

"Or that the filthy swine would sneak the henbane into your rum, no?" Pierre added. "But, the good _Capitaine_ Sparrow, he has regained the _Pearl_? How fortuitous!"

"You must tell us all about it," Giselle said eagerly. "We should celebrate!"

Pierre clapped his hands. "I shall fetch us a bottle of my finest wine, and we will be, how is it you say? All the ears?"

"Aye, that'll about do it." Gibbs said with a smile.

****

"Don't know why the Captain picked us," Pintel groused, shifting his burden to the other shoulder. "How was we t' know the stupid blighter was going t' jump ship?"

"T'weren't no way of knowing," Ragetti agreed, as he maneuvered the heavily laden one-wheeled wooden cart through the rutted street. "Don't think no one was expectin' the cook to just up and leave, especially with this being the season and all."

"Stupid blighter," Pintel scoffed. "Was bad enough Captain Jack blamed us for leaving him behind."

"Again," Ragetti modified the statement. "Though he were happy enough for us helping t' leave Barbossa on that island."

"Captain Barbossa didn't like that one bit."

"Now, that's what I call ironic."

The two men shared a chuckle before resuming their trudge towards the waterfront. Their new Captain, the thrice-charmed Jack Sparrow, had seen fit to reward the two of them by assigning them the tasks of the now defunct ship's cook, which included procuring provisions for their stay in port for the Christmas season. They had spent the better part of the morning haggling at the local markets for fresh produce and meat. They also stocked up on the essentials – flour and sugar, corn meal and lard. Barrels of salted fish and smoked pork as well as crates of fruits and other foodstuff rounded out their load.

The grand prize of the day, though, was shuffling along behind them on the end of a frayed rope.

Snorting and snuffling, the small pink piglet was taking her merry time, stopping to root in every promising pile of refuse along the way. A particularly enticing one stopped the poky porker along with her two plodding companions, in their tracks.

"Come on, you," snarled Pintel, giving the rope a jerk. "We ain't' got all day." He continued to tug to no avail; the piglet had rooted under a large pile of garbage so that only her plump rump and curly tail were visible. Pintel continued to jerk on the rope, his foul mood worsening with each tug.

"Get off there, you mangy, garbage-eatin' hunk of putrid pork," Pintel sputtered, an extra hard tug landing him in the muddy street. "Why you…" His attack launched at the unsuspecting pig was thwarted by Ragetti, who bodily blocked the way.

"Now don't be scaring her none, she's just a baby." Ragetti said, putting a hand out to stop Pintel. "You gots to be gentle with 'em."

"I'll be gentle with 'er," Pintel grumbled. "Right into the stew pot."

Ragetti was busy coaxing the piglet away from the garbage, cooing and cajoling her to follow them. "You see, you just have t' know how to talk to 'em, that's all."

"Well, I don't make a practice of talkin' to pigs," Pintel snapped back. "Unless yer countin' the crew."

The two men chuckled again and resumed their way towards the wharf.

"Won't the Captain be surprised," Ragetti said, smiling at the little piglet, now following docilely behind.

****

The rest of the crew of the _Black Pearl_ were eagerly preparing for the holidays to come, scrubbing the decks and polishing the brass. Their captain had offered them a liberal amount of coin and time ashore to celebrate in the many taverns and brothels of Tortuga. But first he wanted his ship to be in shape, from stem to stern, and had set the crew to work early that morning.

While the bustle of preparation went on above decks, Captain Jack Sparrow sat alone in his cabin studying the chart in front of him. He was perhaps the only one on board ship not looking forward to Christmas. Memories he preferred would remain buried always seemed to surface this time of year, coming back to haunt him like so many ghosts. He swallowed a good portion of rum, the bottle already half empty though the sun had barely reached its zenith in the sky. Rum would not exorcise the ghosts, but would keep them at bay…temporarily.

And what was Christmas supposed to be anyway? His cousin Percy might preach the Nativity and Gifts of the Magi, but to Jack, Christmas just conjured up ugly beasts best left undisturbed. He took another long pull on the bottle, determined to ignore the celebrations ashore, using the time in port to see to the myriad of small details left neglected during his absence.

Such as the ship's log. From the looks of it, that perfidious rotter Barbossa did not bother with a single entry during his brief tenure as Captain. _Captain, bah! _More like absconder and scoundrel. Jack could not summon a single dram of goodwill for the mutinous bastard. May he rot on that godforsaken spit of land… with not a drop of rum to ease his demise. No, dear Lizzie had seen to that.

Lizzie. Elizabeth. Captain Swann. _Mrs. Turner_. The dear ones always did have many names. Jack took another long swallow of rum, trying his best to erase the memories that kept threatening to spill over into unresolved emotions. How could that bastard have married them? Who in the bloody blazes would have ever done such a ludicrous thing? Jack tried to ignore the nagging voice that reminded him that it was he, as Captain of this ship, who had planted the insane idea in sweet Lizzie's head to begin with. Well bloody buggering hell! She wasn't supposed to act on it!

And Will. Jack slugged back another two aggravated swallows. Will Turner. Short for bloody William. _Captain_ Will Turner. His destiny twisted and torn by the capricious gods themselves. Destined to exactly what? A lifetime, an _eternity_ of servitude? How many Christmases would pass before he could set foot on land again? What goodwill was there to be had when good Will was not?

Jack slammed his fist down, scattering the items before him, staring blindly at the chart that promised that elusive eternity that he once held in the palm of his hand. He'd thought it a simple quest, and yet he still searched for that answer that escaped him and left him well alone. As always.

A knock on the door rudely interrupted his thoughts. Gibbs stuck his head in and announced that the _Pearl_ was as shipshape as she could be and that he and the crew were eager to gather their shares and be off ashore to begin celebrating. Jack, welcoming the distraction, spent the next hour carefully divvying up the shares of the plunder to each crewman, duly making a note of each transaction in his logbook, ignoring the odd looks shared by his crew when it begun to appear as if Jack was merely stalling.

As the last of the crew finally shuffled out of the cabin, clutching their bags of coin, Gibbs turned to Jack, who was carefully blotting the last entry in the book. "Coming ashore, Cap'n?"

Jack waved a hand vaguely in Gibbs' direction. "I've business to attend to, Mister Gibbs. You go on, have yourself a good time."

***

Gibbs did not argue, No point really, he reasoned with himself as he made his way up the hill towards town. He hadn't been successful in getting Jack off the_ Pearl_ since they'd caught up with her off the coast of Florida. After disposing of Barbossa, the crew had signed the articles and, to a man had pledged an oath of loyalty to their new captain. This did not make Jack sleep easier, but it did do wonders for morale. Three fat prizes later, and the crew amply compensated, it looked as if there'd be a good time ahead for all this Christmas season.

All except Jack. Well, he would have to just do something about that, now wouldn't he? And Gibbs knew just the persons to ask for help.

****


	2. Chapter 2

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored

Chapter 2

****

_The butler and baker, they now may be glad,  
The times they are mended, though they have been bad;  
The brewer, he likewise may be of good cheer,  
He shall have good trading for ale and strong beer;  
All trades shall be jolly, and have for relief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_The holly and ivy about the walls wind,  
And show that we ought to our neighbours be kind,  
Inviting each other for pastime and sport,  
And where we best fare, there we most do resort;  
We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_The cooks shall be busied by day and by night,  
In roasting and boiling, for taste and delight;  
Their senses in liquor that's nappy they'll steep,  
Though they be afforded to have little sleep;  
They still are employed for to dress us in brief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

****

The moonlight cast a silvery sheen across the deck of the _Black Pearl_, while the men on anchor watch did their best not to doze in the peaceful hours before dawn. Their captain had taken first watch and had retired to his cabin at eight bells, giving strict instructions to be awakened if anything suspicious were to occur.

So when Marty heard a thump, then hushed voices, he'd hurried to the captain's cabin and knocked softly. The door opened a crack and a bleary eye peered out.

"Captain!" Marty whispered, "You better come."

Jack poked his head out and listened. A shuffling was heard and a muffled curse and then a squeal? Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Jack slipped through the door, pistol in hand. Crouching beneath the stairs he placed a finger to his lips and motioned with his head for Marty, knife at the ready, to do the same. They waited in silence to see what materialized.

"Watch it, you moron! You wanna wake the crew?" Pintel whispered loudly, somewhere to port.

"You try then," Ragetti whispered back in a hurt tone. "It ain't so easy you know."

There were more thumps, and shuffling and another muffled, what definitely was, a squeal. Jack peered around the corner to find the two men with their arms full, literally, with a squirming burlap sack. As he watched in surprise the bag squealed again and began struggling more intensely.

_What the bloody hell…?_ Jack wondered silently.

As if to answer his unspoken question, Ragetti said proudly, "I can't wait to see the look on the Cap'n's face when he sees what I caught."

"_You_ caught?" Pintel said with exasperation. "You wouldn't of caught it if I hadn't set the trap."

"But whose idea were it to set the trap?" Ragetti argued back.

Pintel stopped and wagged a finger at Ragetti. "Yer idea was to catch one of them infernal birds yer always squawkin' about."

Pleased with his joke, Pintel chose that moment to let go of his end of the sack, which was a mistake. With one more great effort the bundle squirmed free, revealing a young, flawless piglet. Startled, the little pig took off across the deck, with the two men scrambling after it.

"Now look what you've done!" Pintel shouted.

"Yer the one that let go!" Ragetti shouted back. "Quick, catch 'er before she goes in the sea and drowns."

"When was the last time you saw a drowned pig?"

The small pig ran by, with Pintel and Ragetti in hot pursuit. Jack swooped down with one quick move and snagged the piglet, holding the squirming, frightened animal firmly in his arms. "I prefer my dinner to be less lively," he said to the two men, who skidded to a panting halt in front of him.

"Aye, Cap'n," Pintel said giving Ragetti a glare.

"Do tell me this isn't on the menu," Jack said handing the pig back to Ragetti.

"No Cap'n, she's too little, and…well, I've been thinkin'…"

Jack raised an eyebrow at the stammering cook as Marty eyed the little pig hungrily.

"Big enough to roast," Marty told Ragetti, who protectively held the pig away from him.

"I'll just be puttin' her in a pen," he mumbled and hurried off down below deck

"Remind me again why I didn't maroon those two?" Jack said, watching their receding backs.

Marty just grunted in reply.

****

Dawn broke to a flurry of activity along the wharfs. Several new ships had dropped anchor in the night and were busy offloading their cargos into boats, which were met with great excitement at the dock by the town merchants, all eager to fill their shops for the festive days ahead. Their shouts as they haggled over prices carried across the water to where the _Black Pearl_ rest at anchor. There was no mistaking one voice in particular, the sing-song French accents of the dressmaker Pierre, engaged in heated battle with a Mrs. Pomfrey over a particularly elegant bolt of silk.

"Madame! This cloth, it is too _magnifique_ for the likes of your atrocities."

"Why I never!" The red-faced seamstress straightened, fists balled on waist. "How dare you insult me frocks in such a fashion!"

"Fashion? The _grotesques_ you call gowns? Bah!" Pierre waved her sputtering protests aside. "Whereas Pierre Bouspeut, he creates the beauty, the elegance, the…"

The remainder of his speech was muffled, as the insulted Mrs. Pomfrey saw fit to liberally apply the bolt of cloth in question to the smaller man's head.

A pair of arms and several shouts later had separated the two combatants. "None of this now," Gibbs said as he pulled the dressmaker aside. "There's plenty to go around." He bent down and picked up a slightly squashed hat from under his boot. "I believe this is yours, ma'am?" he asked, straightening the brim as best he could.

The flustered woman snatched the hat from Gibbs and crammed it on her head. "You keep that French fop away from me shop, you here?" she screeched.

"I would rather die then set foot in the chamber of the horrors!" Pierre spat back.

From their vantage point at the _Pearl's_ rail, Jack and Marty watched with evident humor.

"So much for the spirit of Father Christmas," Jack said with a joyous grin.

Marty shrugged. "It's Tortuga."

****

A thump on the side of the ship signaled the boat from shore. Jack watched as Gibbs helped Pierre up the sea ladder, the latter's arms full of his latest conquest. Shoving the brightly colored cloth into Gibbs' arms, Pierre advanced on Jack with open arms and a beaming smile.

"Ah, _Capitaine_ Sparrow, what a wonderful coincidence!"

Jack, anticipating the Frenchman, sidestepped the embrace neatly, grabbing Pierre's hand in a greeting instead, with a smile of his own. "I see you have not lost your touch for getting what you want," Jack said, with a nod towards the hard-won silk.

"That woman, she is a cow!" Pierre sniffed. "_Quel désastre!_ She makes the dresses, most hideous, and charges too much. The poor girls, they come to Pierre, begging me to do the repairs. Pah! She would only make the sow's ear out of the lovely silk."

Pierre glanced around. "But what is this I hear, about you not leaving the ship? How am I to cook you the fattened goose, the plum puddings you English are so fond of, if you do not come to my feast _de Noël?_"

Jack waved away the words. "Christmas, blah."

"_C'est quoi, ça? _How can you say 'Pah!' to Christmas!?" Pierre sputtered.

"Blah." Jack repeated and jabbed a challenging finger at Pierre. "Christmas or not, we weigh anchor day after tomorrow."

"But Christmas, it is Twelve Days, no? What of your men, do they not want to make merry?"

"Bloody buggering hell!" Jack threw his arms up in exasperation. "We've already been in port three days as it is. Hell, half the crew won't make it past four without running out of coin."

"Or killing themselves." Ragetti piped up helpfully.

"Right!" Jack said brightly. "So we shall give Tortuga two more days, and then we're off. Seems bloody fair, if you ask me. "

"And the feast?" Pierre batted his eyes hopefully at Jack.

"_Bon appetit_!" Jack said, with a wave and a whirl of coat tails as he headed back to the relative sanctuary of his cabin.

"_Merde!_ He is the most stubborn ass!" Pierre straightened his lace cuffs and sniffed. "If the good _Capitaine_ will not come to the feast, then the feast shall come to the _Capitaine_. Mister Gibbous! I shall need two assistants."

Gibbs smiled as he caught sight of Pintel and Ragetti sneaking away.

"Aye, aye, Pierre. I have just the two for you."

****

"This reminds me of Christmas up at the big house, when I was a girl."

Giselle paused in her stirring, and wiped a hand across her brow. With her disheveled hair and that spot of flour on her nose, cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the hearth, she looked as if she were fifteen once again.

"Cook always used to let us help stir the puddings," she giggled, eyes far away in reminiscing. "Those not old enough to reach the table had to stand on a chair."

"Aye, we always took a turn with the Christmas puddings," Gibbs said, smiling fondly at Giselle. "Everyone in the family would take a stir, east to west. T'was good luck."

"How about you, Letty?" Giselle asked Scarlett, who was busy preparing the stuffing for the goose. "Did you have plum pudding at Christmas?"

"It wouldn't be Christmas otherwise." Scarlett put down her knife. "I remember going to church with my family, Stir-up Sunday we called it. The prayers would open with, '_Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of they faithful people, what they plenteously bring forth the fruit of good works…' _and so on." She smiled, eyes twinkling with good humor. "But we always changed the words to,_ 'Stir up, we beseech thee, the pudding in the pot. And when we do get home tonight, we'll eat it up hot.'_ Mother always scolded us after church, and then hurried home to start the puddings."

They all laughed.

"And what about you, Pierre?" Gibbs asked the Frenchman, returning from the cellar with an armful of wine bottles. "Did you have plum pudding for Christmas?"

"The plum pudding? Pah! It is a most English of foods. Only the English would put _la viande hâchée menu_, the chopped beef, and the mutton in the pudding." Pierre sniffed. "No, the plum pudding is for the barbarian."

"Oi! Watch it!" Pintel growled from his corner by the sink where he sat peeling potatoes, a surly expression on his face.

Pierre waved away his protest. "But is this not why the English, they are so fierce? Why the other countries, they all tremble in fear of you English pirates? Your mothers all fed you the plum puddings."

"I think you're fierce," Ragetti told Pintel, who only scowled more.

"So what did you French eat?" Gibbs asked, stopping to take a swallow of rum.

"We ate the _Gateau des Rois, _the King's Cake," Pierre said proudly. "It is a cake, most _magnifique_, a cake which requires the utmost of care, attention, and the finest ingredients." He paused and held up a finger. "But before you can begin to mix the cake, all the ingredients, they must be prepared, the flour, it must be dried and sifted, the currants, they must be washed, the nutmegs grated, the spices pounded, the candied fruit cut into the most thin of slices, the almonds bruised with the rose water, the sugar sifted, and the eggs whisked." He shrugged. "It is a most complicated cake, one the simple Englishman with his boiled pudding, would not comprehend."

He set the wine bottles on the sideboard and dusted his hands. "But we are here to prepare the English feast, no? So we shall have the plum pudding, and minced pies." He snapped his fingers at the two men in the corner. "I have been told you have caught the small piglet, _oui_? What is more English than the roast pig?"

"You can't roast Penelope!" Ragetti sputtered. "She's just a baby! T'would be barbaric it would."

"Ah, the fierce pirate, he has made a pet out of the pig, no?" Pierre smiled. "There is no need to worry about your _petite_ pet, _monsieur_ Ragetti. No. The English Christmas feast requires the boar most enormous, its head served on the platter, with the garlands most gay."

Gibbs shook his head. "First goats, now pigs," he muttered. "More like Noah's ark than a pirate ship."

"Come, come, we must not waste time," Pierre clapped his hands. "We still have much to do, the hour, it is growing late. I, myself, shall now prepare the beverage requiring the most skillful mixture, a drink that is too, how is it you say? Too abstruse, too complex for the _comprehénsion_ of the ordinary person."

He pulled a large silver bowl out from a cupboard and held it high. "The _pièce de résistance, oui_? Behold, the wassail bowl!"

****


	3. Chapter 3

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored

Chapter 3

****

_Although the cold weather doth hunger provoke,  
'Tis a comfort to see how the chimneys do smoke;  
Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine,  
For all that are willing or ready to dine:  
Then haste to the kitchen, for diet the chief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_All travellers, as they do pass on their way,  
At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay,  
Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest,  
Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest  
Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_Now Mock-beggar-hall it no more shall stand empty,  
But all shall be furnisht with freedom and plenty;  
The hoarding old misers, who us'd to preserve  
The gold in their coffers, and see the poor starve,  
Must now spread their tables, and give them in brief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

****

They formed a motley procession on their way to the waterfront. Several fiddlers led the way, followed by the crew, drunk and boisterous and singing off-key, weaving their way down the muddy street. Behind them came the feast, carried with much pomp and pageantry.

In the lead was Pierre, proudly carrying the flaming Christmas pudding, followed by Scarlett and Giselle with the minced pies.

Pintel and Ragetti were next, hauling a huge silver wassail bowl between them. Its contents were a potent potation indeed, a heady mixture of the richest and raciest wines, highly spiced and sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing about the surface. The two recently recruited cooks, who had been liberally sampling the mixture, bobbed along as well.

"Don't want t' be servin' the Cap'n an inferior drink." Ragetti had sniffed, after his second cup. Pintel had agreed wholeheartedly, quaffing several cupfuls before an irate Pierre had shooed them away.

Behind them came Cotton, solemnly carrying the Christmas goose, stuffed with apples and prunes and roasted to perfection. On his shoulder, his parrot flapping its wings and squawked, "Don't eat me. Don't eat me!"

Marty followed, wheeling a barrow almost as big as him, filled with bottles of wine nestled in straw. Last but not least was Gibbs, carrying a large silver platter on which rested an enormous pig's head decorated with rosemary and sage and a lemon in its mouth.

The sight and smell of the movable feast attracted a large ensemble of followers, all of which crowded onto the narrow dock alongside which the _Black Pearl_ was now moored. At the sound of the music and singing, the captain of the vessel emerged from his cabin to see what the commotion was all about.

"_Bonjour_, _Capitaine_ Sparrow!" Pierre called. "We have brought you the Christmas feast, as you can see!"

"And half the town, it appears," Jack said.

Pierre shrugged. "What is Christmas without a celebration?"

"Peaceful." Jack folded his arms and jutted out his chin. "You weren't expecting to bring that mob onto me ship, were you?"

"No, no, no," Pierre said. "They will return to their taverns and have their own feasts."

"Permission to come aboard, Cap'n?" Gibbs called.

"Aye, permission granted, Mister Gibbs," Jack reluctantly agreed, eyeing the flaming pudding with suspicion. "But have Pierre puts that bloody fire out first."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Gibbs said grinning.

The gangplank was lowered and the crew carried the feast aboard. Planks were hastily placed across the deck guns, and covered with burlap sheets. The food was arrayed as grandly as if it were gracing a grand country manor's sideboard.

"What do you think, my dear _Capitaine_?" Pierre asked Jack, waving a hand. "I have for you the traditional English Christmas, complete with the exhilarating wassail bowl and the boar's head, crowned with _le bon_ garlands. The minced pies, the plum pudding, the goose roasted to perfection. Even the wandering minstrels singing the ancient carols, _oui_?"

"For a Frenchman, you've done a proper English feast, aye." Jack raised his bottle in a half salute.

The fiddlers continued to play a collection of traditional carols and tunes, giving the celebration a festive air. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the torches and lanterns were lit, while the crew feasted and drank under the twinkling stars of Christmas Eve night.

As the last of the food was savored, and the wassail bowl drained to its dregs, Pierre clapped his hands and pronounced it time for the Christmas pudding to be cut and the 'King of the Bean' be crowned.

"It is a grand tradition in my country, the _Gateau des Rois,_ the King's cake," Pierre explained. "Normally, we would wait until Twelfth Night for it, but alas, _Capitaine_ Sparrow wishes to set sail before that. So, instead we shall partake of this fine English pudding, inside of which resides _une fève_, a lucky charm. The fortunate person who finds this charm shall be crowned the King of the Revels, the Lord of Misrule, the Master of Merry Disports."

Pintel elbowed Ragetti and grinned. "I like that."

"Traditionally, other items, they would also be hidden in the cake," Pierre continued. "A pea for the Queen; a clove, for a rogue; a twig for the Cuckold, or a bit of rag that says that perhaps your morals might be in question." Looking around at the drunken pirate crew, he shrugged. "But, with the present company, I did not see a reason to include these others."

This caused much laughter and jostling amongst the crew, several of them clapping their companion's back in merriment. The pieces of cake were distributed among the men, with the admonishment for none to eat until the last piece was cut.

"I got it!" The cry rang out and all eyes turned to see Ragetti proudly holding up the silver charm.

Suddenly all the men were up, slapping him on the back, placing the empty wassail bowl on his head for a crown, finding a cloak and staff for him to wear. The merrymaking spilled out onto the dock and soon the men were dancing and drinking with each other and the tavern wenches who'd followed them down to the pier.

Leading the procession, Ragetti announced his first, and most likely his last command. "I proclaim a celebration!" Carrying him on their shoulders, the men headed back towards town.

"He makes a good Lord of Misrule," Pierre said as they watched the parade weaving its way through the streets.

"More like fool," Gibbs said with a shake of the head. "Whoever heard of having a pet pig on board a ship anyways?"

****


	4. Chapter 4

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored

Chapter 4

****

_The court, and the city, and country are glad,  
Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad;  
Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly,  
And hundreds be losers by cogging a die,  
Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_Those that have no coin at the cards for to play,  
May sit by the fire, and pass time away,  
And drink of their moisture contented and free  
"My honest good fellow, come, here is to thee!"  
And when they are hungry, fall to their relief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along,  
E__ach room in the house to the musick shall throng,  
Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass,  
And each country swain trip about with his lass;  
Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

****

"No, no, no, no, my dear Gibbous!" Pierre protested. "It is not the 'leaping lords' and 'milking maids' as you English say!"

The moon hung low on the horizon, the evening now mellowed; the celebration in town having weaved its way back to the _Pearl _once again.

Pierre and Gibbs, who were sharing a bottle of wine along with stories of Christmas customs from their homelands, were arguing good-naturedly over a child's counting rhyme.

"I remember, clear as yesterday, my dear mum teaching me the words," Gibbs said, ticking them off on his fingers, "It were a partridge in a pear-tree, two turtle-doves, three French hens, four colly birds, five gold rings, six geese a-laying, seven swans a-swimming, eight maids a-milking, nine drummers drumming, ten pipers piping, eleven ladies dancing, and twelve lords leaping."

Pierre interrupted. "You English, and your love of the war. Drummers drumming, pipers piping. Pah!"

"Why I always 'eard it were a King giving 'is Lady a parrot," a drunken sailor piped up. "Like Cotton's there."

Cotton glanced up from the piece of wood he was whittling and grinned, his parrot flapping its wings in agreement.

"Whoever heard of a King with a bloomin' parrot?" Pintel asked, looking up from his dice game.

"I've heard that one, originally from Scotland, tis," Ragetti offered, sitting regally with wassail bowl rakishly perched on his head. "King gave her a baboon, too."

"Well we ain't originally from Scotland, are we?" Pintel said, with a snort. "I've always heard it the way Gibbs tells it."

"In my country, we give the gifts most useful, no?" Pierre said. "The partridge, the two turtle-doves, the three wood-pigeons," he recited. "Four ducks flying, five rabbits trotting, six hares a-field, seven hounds running, eight shorn sheep, nine horned oxen, ten good turkeys, eleven good hams, and the twelve small cheeses."

"Cheeses?" The men all fell about laughing and slapping their legs. "Leave it to the French to give cheeses!"

"What? You would rather we give the gift of the parrot? The Arabian baboon?" Pierre sputtered. "Or perhaps you English men prefer the _La foi de la loi_, the creed of the authority. _Voilà_."

He began to sing solemnly,

"_La premier' parti' d'la foi de la loi, _

_Dit' la moi, frere Gregoire. _

_Un bon farci sans os _

_La deuxieme parti' d'la foi de la loi,_

_Dit' le moi, frere Gregoire _

_Deux ventres de veau, _

_Un bon farci sans os._

A good stuffing without bones. Two breasts of veal." Pierre translated. "Three joints of beef, four pig's trotters, five legs of mutton, six partridges with cabbage, seven spitted rabbits, eight plates of salad, nine plates of cheese, ten full casks, eleven beautiful full-breasted maidens, twelve knights with their rapiers."

This was greeted by shouts of approval from the drunken crew.

"Full-breasted maidens, why that's more like it!"

"A bloody buggering sight better than cheese!"

The men all hooted and hollered, falling about in laughter once more.

****

Jack Sparrow sat apart from the men, enjoying the festivities with certain reluctance, though not taking part. There were several things pressing on his mind, the first and foremost being the one he'd left behind all those months ago. Deep in thought, he barely noted the sound of revelry wafting across the water from the many ships crowding the harbor.

It had now been three nights since he'd awakened to the sound of a soft, wet _splock_, and found himself face to face with the ghost of Christmas past. Well, at least it might as well have been a ghost for the turn it gave him. There, stepping into his cabin, through the solid bulkhead was none other than the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, Will Turner, himself.

"I don't suppose you could learn to knock, like normal blighters," Jack had groused, once he'd regained his voice. Even though this wasn't the first time he'd been visited in such a fashion, Jack still found Will's sudden materializations to be rather disconcerting.

Will had only smirked that familiar crooked smile, making himself at home by lighting a lantern and pouring a glass of rum. "Sorry, Jack," he'd said, sinking into the chair beside the bunk with a sigh. "I don't have much time and well…" He waved a vague hand around. "My presence seems to cause some alarm these days."

Jack sat up and took the glass from Will, draining it in one swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the glass back with a grin. "Can't really blame 'em for being alarmed, what with you appearing out of thin air like that." His grin faded as he saw the solemn look on Will's face.

"Why do I get the feeling this isn't your normal social call?" Jack said, motioning towards the bottle of rum by Will's foot, who automatically reached down and handed it to Jack, before wearily burying his face in his hands.

Taking another swallow, and two more for good measure, Jack braved the question he dreaded to ask.

"What brings you here?"

"Elizabeth."

The word hung heavily between the two men.

"Ah, yes. Her nibs." Jack was the first to break the uneasy silence. "And how is our dear Lizzie these days?"

"She's with child." Will said, his voice low. He stood up abruptly and began to pace the cabin. "She's carrying my child, and I cannot be there for her. For them." He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.

Jack poured some rum in the glass and handed it to Will. "Here. Do you good."

Will downed the rum and grimaced, sank back onto the chair, and stared pensively at the floor. "She's all alone in the world now, Jack. All my grand efforts gone to waste."

"From my recollections, Elizabeth is quite capable of taking care of herself," Jack pointed out rather unhelpfully.

"Yes, but not in her condition. I need your help, Jack."

"_My_ help?" Jack took a swallow of rum and added, "Not so sure your charming wife would welcome my help."

"She trusts you."

"Ha!" Jack said. "All evidence to the contrary, my dear William."

"_I_ trust you." Will said quietly.

Jack studied Will intently for a moment, then asked, "What pray tell, exactly am I supposed to…?"

"Will you go to her, Jack?" Will interrupted, his face earnest. "Would you see that she's safe?"

"If I were to go," Jack said, one finger raised, "and I'm not sayin' I will, but if I do happen t' change me mind, just where might this somewhere safe be?"

"That's just it, Jack, I don't even know where to start looking," Will said, in anguish. "I don't have much time, I am stretching it enough coming here."

Jack pulled out his compass nonchalantly and tossed it to Will. "Perhaps this will help? Bit hard to go rescuing your distressing damsel without a heading."

Will opened the compass whose needle quivered before swinging around to point at…

"You?" Will asked incredulously.

Rolling his eyes, Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "East." He took the compass back and shook his head. "Really, Will. I would think you would have figured out how it works by now." Leaning forward, Jack squinted at Will, calculating, shaking his head slowly. "I've no business in that direction, mate."

Eyes flashing, Will set his jaw and returned the gaze, swallowing his helplessness to replace it with sworn determination. "What business do you have here, Jack? Are you planning on handing the _Pearl_ over to the East India Trading Company or will you just sit here, drinking rum, and wait for them to blow her into pieces?"

Sitting up, Jack looked at anything but Will in obvious discomfort, gathering his abruptly splayed out thoughts that he'd tried so hard to hide from. Taking in deep breath, finger raised to argue, he met Will's eyes, and promptly deflated.

"I hate it when you're right." There was not an ounce of sarcasm in Jack's voice.

Suddenly, a worried look crossed Will's face and his brow furrowed. "I have to go." He put a hand on Jack's shoulder almost apologetically and said with feeling, "Find Elizabeth, Jack. Take care of her for me."

"Right." Jack smiled briefly, and then added seriously, "No worries, mate."

Will's smile of relief remained behind long after he'd faded into the woodwork.

****


	5. Chapter 5

Old Christmas Revived, Hospitality Restored

Chapter 5

****

_The cooks and the scullion, who toil in their frocks,  
Their hopes do depend upon their Christmas box;  
There is very few that do live on the earth  
But enjoy at this time either profit or mirth;  
Yea those that are charged to find all relief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_Then well may we welcome Old Christmas to town,  
Who brings us good cheer, and good liquor so brown;  
To pass the cold winter away with delight,  
We feast it all day, and we frolick all night:  
Both hunger and cold we keep out with relief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

_Then let all curmudgeons, who dote on their wealth,  
And value their treasure much more than their health,  
Go hang themselves up, if they will be so kind;  
Old Christmas with them but small welcome shall find;  
They will not afford to themselves without grief,  
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minc'd pies, and roast-beef._

****

"Whatcha got there?" Giselle asked Cotton, who was setting some wooden figures on top of a crate.

Pierre bent down to get a closer look and clapped his hands, exclaiming, "It is a crèche!"

Scarlett picked up one of the little wooden figure and turned it over in her hand. "Why Mr. Cotton! Did you carve this yourself?"

Cotton just smiled as the rough and rowdy crew of pirates took turns examining the figurines and commenting among themselves.

"Oh look! A shepherd. See 'is sheep there?"

"A donkey! And this must be one of them Wise Men."

"And 'ere's Mary, and Joseph."

Giselle looked up from where she was kneeling next to the crate and asked, "Where's the baby Jesus?"

Pierre answered for Cotton. "It is a tradition in my country not to place the babe in the manger until the stroke of midnight on the eve of Christmas."

"Which by my calculations," Gibbs said, pulling out a pocket watch and consulted it. "Should be right about … now."

As he spoke the ringing of church bells pealed in the night and a collective cry of voices could be heard echoing from the ships in the harbor and upon the shore, "Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas, everyone!"

Cotton pulled a small wooden figure from his pocket with a flourish and bowing, handed it to Giselle. Smiling widely, she bent and delicately placed the tiny wooden babe in the manger, as the men all cheered and clapped each other on the back.

Ragetti stood, and taking the wassail bowl from his head, he reverently placed it over his heart and spoke:

_And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger._

"Whoot's 'e doin' in a manger?" one of the more drunk crew members asked.

"Well there weren't no room in the inn, now were there?"

Giselle touched a gentle finger to the figure of the baby. "Must have been difficult, her having t' give birth all alone in a strange place. No family, no nothing."

"Ah, _ma chérie_, she was not alone," Pierre said smiling. "She had Joseph beside her, to protect her and her baby."

****

Jack slipped by, and made his way to the bow of the _Pearl_. Sitting out on the bowsprit, eyes towards the horizon, a half empty bottle of rum dangling from one hand, he sought to make sense of his maelstrom of emotions. The multitude of stars above, stretching to infinity did not answer his unspoken questions, nor did the dark sea beyond the _Pearl_'s bow.

_And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn._

He knew where his heart truly lied, he knew and yet was helpless to change what fate had dealt them.

"_Find Elizabeth, Jack. Take care of her for me."_

The words echoed on the distant wind.

Closer ones interrupted his thoughts.

"A person oughtn't to be alone, 'specially on Christmas."

Giselle smiled, when Jack glanced down at her from his perch, the breeze fluttering her skirts. Lost in thought, he had not heard her approach.

"Was hopin' we might get t' spend some time together," she continued, in a soft voice. "You know, fer old time's sake, and all that." She glanced up, hopeful.

Jack sighed and took a long swallow of rum. Pointing towards the lights of the other ships in the harbor, he said simply, "There's many a fine gent looking for a bit of company tonight. A face as lovely as yours ought t' have her pick."

Giselle glanced out at the water and shook her head. "I'm not lookin' fer that, Jack."

Sighing again, Jack scuttled along the bowsprit and hopped onto the deck. Handing the bottle to Giselle he said with finality, "I'm not lookin' for that, either. Done found it, and lost it once again."

"Not like you t' give up, Jack. I'm sure you'll find it again, one day." Giselle laid a hand on his sleeve. "You just have to know what you want and go after it. S'what you always tell me."

Jack didn't answer, just gave her a quick smile as he joined her at the rail. The two of them gazed at the lights of Tortuga in comfortable silence.

"Looks almost pretty, from here," she said finally, laughing softly.

_What seemed a lifetime ago, he'd sailed into this very port, trailing along on a fool's mission to rescue a certain damsel in distress. Seemed fate was handing him the same mission, and yet who was it exactly that needed rescuing this time?_

"…and you really need to see the wonderful crèche Cotton carved!" Giselle prattled on.

"Come again?" Jack shook the past from his mind.

"The crew. They asked me t'fetch you, Jack." Giselle sighed. "Weren't you even listening?"

"The crew. Right." Jack draped his arm around her shoulder. "Tell them I will be with them shortly." He gave her a gently push. "Go on, I won't be long."

_He knew that he couldn't say no. It was the least he could do, for them. Life, new life, had a way of reshuffling one's priorities. _

Resolute in spirit, if not mind, Jack rejoined the festivities on deck, where the remaining men were raising their tankards to all and sundry including the King, were it pirate or principality, their captain, their crew, their long-suffering mothers… leaving no one out as the rum flowed freely.

Jack bent down and studied the small wooden figures, picking up first Joseph and then Mary. With a smile he placed them gently beside the baby in the manger.

_Ah, ma chérie, she was not alone. She had Joseph beside her, to protect her and her baby._

Scuttlebutt was that the pirate king had left these waters, and traveled east, back to the land of her birth. A bright star hung low in the Eastern sky, catching Jack's eye, beckoning him, pointing the way.

They say that Wise Men from before time followed a guiding star, leading them to one worth more than any earthly treasure. Jack opened his compass and smiled as the needle held steady. He knew where his course now lay.

Snapping the compass shut, Jack made up his mind.

"Mister Gibbs!"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"We have our heading."

"Where to, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked, scratching his whiskers.

"East. We sail the day after Boxing Day on the morning tide."

"Aye, Cap'n. I'll have the crew on board, sir."

A flurry of activity accompanied his words as a small piglet dashed across the deck, with Ragetti, wassail bowl and all, hot on her heels.

Shaking his head, Jack said, "I leave them in your hands, Mister Gibbs."

Gibbs raised his cup. "To Old Christmas Revived."

Jack raised his as well, clinking cups he said, "Hospitality Restored."

Then, with a small salute he toasted the far horizon. "Here's to you, Will Turner."

Turning his gaze back to the guiding star, he raised his cup once more, "And Elizabeth, wherever you may be. Happy Christmas, luv."

****


End file.
